


Question of Faith

by ateliertamsin



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Casual Talking, Could be read as Madam Spellman/Zilith, i would probably elaborate more on that in a different story, vague talks of interpretations of lilith throughout history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ateliertamsin/pseuds/ateliertamsin
Summary: Lilith and Zelda chat in the early dawn about faith, truth, and Eve.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman & Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Question of Faith

“And tell me what you think of her.”

Zelda Spellman looked over, confused, possibly stricken. It is not a question that warrants disdain. It is curious. But also haunting, seeing as...

A thin veil of dark curls hides those watery blue eyes. They’re clear when you can chance them. Brimming and flooding with emotion. With the potential to express so much more then they do. It is hard to see Lilith in this moment. There is little lighting, aside from the fire, and the town of Greendale had not yet been bathed in the light of dawn.

For a passing moment, Zelda wonders if Lilith is hiding. The question answers itself within seconds, which prompts Zelda’s next question of why. She thinks of Lilith’s strength, her endurance, her power. In this empty house. In this moment where it is just the two of them. She wonders if Lilith is hiding from her. She hopes not, but what good is hope now?

It takes Zelda a moment to realize that she has not answered Lilith’s question and that her prolonged silence may be contributing to the tension she feels around Lilith.

“What do I think of Eve?”

A silent static takes hold of Lilith’s tongue as she listens, and the corners of her lips move as if she’s to say something. “Yes, Eve,” she says after a moment, the taste of angels and anglicization bittersweet against her tongue.

The evenness of Eve’s name comes naturally to Lilith’s body, but not to herself. The memory of her mouth tells Lilith that Mary Wardwell must speak Eve’s name often, for she has no trouble saying it despite the hesitation that catches in Lilith’s mind. Is it possible that Mary Wardwell sees Eve as a friend? What Lilith would give for that power.

Zelda, meanwhile, crosses her legs neatly and reclines back in her chair. The Spellman’s living room is nearly empty aside from words that catch in the air and a fire that crackles life when the two witches... the two women... don’t speak into the room.

“I admired her as well,” Zelda admits. “I admired an inherent rebellion to her.”

There is a moment as Zelda tries to recall a dream. A nightmare. A time when she would tell the story to children. The story of Eve being kept in the garden, naked and unaware. The story of Eve that she knew so well that it worked its way into a dream about her desires. Her admiration for such a woman was consuming in her younger days as she had grown more studious, more socially engaged. The salon of the academy, high spirited and haunting, spoke tales of Eve having been a survivor of the False God’s oppression.

Zelda remembered the wild passion in which she vowed she would follow the example of Eve against the world, and how quickly she had cursed herself for making it the moment Lilith had stepped into this same room. Or... the moment that Zelda had been awoken to the fact.

Lilith, for her part, seems to take a curious breath. She shifts in her chair, and Zelda finds that looking into Lilith’s eyes now, now that she’s dusted her curtain of curls over her shoulder, that there is still an imploring question not yet asked.

“But what do you think of her?”

Is that not what Zelda had just answered, she wonders. Her silence is more telling than her original answer, and Lilith takes in a breath and tries again. “And what does Sabrina think of me?”

The question seems a strange shift in tone. Sabrina’s feelings towards Lilith are confusing and complex. They range largely from reverence to rage, from hospitable to hostile. They can be overwhelming and all-consuming. But they can also be non-existent and careless.

“That is a complicated question,” Zelda settles on, not sure how she would respond to Lilith about the matter. And what answer does she seek? Which question is she asking?

Lilith straightens, that watery emotion in her eyes, the one that is fluid but not shapeless, begins to freeze, becoming more opaque.

“What did she think of the part that the Dark Lord had given her?”

The sounds of the fire cracking become more and more prominent, they echo in Zelda’s head along with the last words by Lilith.

“She would have rather died than be his herald or queen,” Zelda said, and the disdain for Lucifer returning.

But Lilith’s humour, sad and dark, returns. She shakes her head, and Zelda wonders how Lilith’s eyes shift from impenetrable to humoured.

“No. What did she think of playing the role of Lilith?”

Zelda looks away. Oh. Lilith’s smile is like a hum in the air, the presence of it creating more static in Zelda’s ears. “She was excited. Despite Faustus’s edits," Zelda catches Lilith's almost imperceptible wince, "she still saw the character with great strength. She was pleased to get the part. Sabrina felt a connection. And she longed to play the role.”

And when Zelda looked back, having begun to smile at the memory of her niece's excitement, she finds Lilith’s own smile rueful and ironic.

“I shouldn’t hope she would find a connection to my position, Zelda,” Lilith says. “I shouldn’t hope anyone would long to play me, even for a night.”

The double meaning does not escape Zelda, and she realizes what Lilith was beginning to ask her earlier.

“I admired Eve,” Zelda begins, her voice fuller, richer. She speaks with ownership of her thoughts, which Lilith can appreciate. “I admired Eve’s rebellion. I admired the way she fought against the False God. I had admired what I believed about Eve when I played her on stage. There was temptation and trepidation in my views of her. How could anyone deny a woman’s inner strength in that way.”

If Lilith is disappointed in Zelda’s assessment of her replacement, she does not show it. She actually seems a bit mirthful at the realization, but whether that is about the answer or obtaining it, she isn’t sure.

“Lilith,” Zelda begins, sitting forward, speaking forward. “I will not sway my devotion to you now in favour of Eve. It is you now who our coven will worship. And I will swear that you will not be forgotten for your trials.”  
  
And Lilith freezes.

And Zelda worries her lip in fear of insulting her.

And then... Lilith laughs. It is tearful without the presence of tears.

“You needn’t put down Eve like that,” Lilith says, not a moment later. “You needn’t shed your admiration for her. I would have liked to be friends with her, you know. I would have loved the chance to have been sisters. So what did you think of her?”

Zelda pauses and swallows before... “I thought I knew her well. I thought I understood her perfectly. I saw myself in her.”  
  
“Then you needn’t let that go.”

The curiosity in Zelda’s face grows, to which Lilith responds, “I mourned us, you see. I mourned how the two of us could not have been friends. I mourned that we must both suffer at the hands of others. I mourned that even if we did not suffer the same within the walls of Eden, that we did both suffer within the narration. Should we remain temptresses? Or villains?”  
  
“No!” Zelda interjects, appalled. “Of course no--”

“Why not?” Lilith challenges. in Zelda’s sudden outburst, she’d missed the rising passion in Lilith’s chest. Even though Lilith did not shout, the sharpness of her tone was evident. “Let them name us as such if it keeps them safe! Let them fear that I am a demoness who would take away their children. I may surprise and bless them by letting them keep their babes. I may surprise them by not viciously attacking their cribs, but rather, remaining to kneel at the hooves of those they feared.”  
  


Lilith looks radiant with thought now, but she is not brimming with rage. She is looking not towards Zelda, or the heavens, or the hearth to hell. Her eyes are closed, shutting off that channel of seeing into her heart.

“They were wrong to call you a demon,” Zelda says.

“I would not mind being called a villainess, a temptress, a witch, or a whore if it was not so lonely in their minds to be so. The curse of being the demoness Lilith is not because I have power. It’s because they had the audacity to pretend that it was my own.” Her smile remains as she opens her eyes, allowing herself back into the room. Zelda Spellman may understand age and timelessness as a woman hundreds of years old, but what was that to Lilith’s? The look in Lilith’s eyes seemed to distance itself, then focus back. As if this room shouldn’t be here. Or it should be replaced by something far different. She steadies a breath. “I do not care for what their ignorant minds painted me as then. I do not care what they think,” she says, her voice grating a harshness.

Which melts away the moment Zelda asks, “Then why do you care what we think?”

And Lilith, for all the distance she has kept between herself and Zelda, reaches a hand out to graze Zelda’s own.

Zelda looks up at her, questioning. She does not move her own hand, for to do so would break contact with Lilith.

“Because you’re here. Because in this room and in this moment, there is no wall or whisper that keeps us apart. Because the two of us may be co-conspirators or partners. We may be equals.”

The feeling of Lilith’s hand slipping caused Zelda’s heart to jump, and she caught Lilith’s hand on instinct, to hold it close. For her to feel Lilith’s. And for Lilith to feel hers.

“And what do you think of her?” Zelda asked, in turn.

Lilith looks stunned in a muted, subdued way. She doesn’t adjust her posture. She doesn’t hide. She replies simply, “I miss her.”

Zelda laughs, and after a moment, Lilith laughs too. “There is a reason why each new beginning is called Eve,” Lilith says. “I don’t ask that you be blindly devoted to me, Zelda Spellman. I only request, not demand or order, that you help others find their truth.”

She nods, an acceptance of Lilith’s request. “My truth is that I have faith in you.”

“You needn’t treat me as divine,” Lilith begins, averting her eyes, before Zelda cuts her off, not harsh, but clarifying.

“I have faith in you, Lilith. In the first woman and first witch. And I won’t let anyone falsify your story again.”


End file.
